


Shatter the Rules

by Cyndi



Series: Whouffaldi Triad [3]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Autism, Autism Acceptance, Dancing, Erotica, F/M, Neurodiversity, Resolution, Romance, Sexual Tension, actuallyautistic, autistic 12th Doctor, autistic Twelfth Doctor, autistic Twelve, autistic headcanon, autistic!12th Doctor, autistic!Twelfth Doctor, autistic!Twelve, demisexual!12th Doctor, demisexual!Twelfth Doctor, demisexual!Twelve, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyndi/pseuds/Cyndi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Clara stop running from themselves because rules were made to be broken. (Autistic!12th Doctor, sequel to "Pocket Chalk".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatter the Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Here is what I was building to. This is a sequel to Thorns and Pocket Chalk and takes place at the end of The Woman Who Lived. Anyone who says autism makes a person incapable of feeling or understanding love is totally wrong and here is your proof.
> 
> I am a total sucker for Disney-esque dance sequences. They’re the height of romantic to me, so it’s only natural I have one in this fic. :) The scene I spun has a twist only the Doctor could give it and I hope that makes it memorable. Here is the song they’ll be dancing to: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vcj_e4yg8pA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vcj_e4yg8pA%20)
> 
> I write by envisioning everything in my head as a movie. Movies have soundtracks, so here is what I imagine playing when they get down to business: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypUHyP9cJ5w>

Seeing Clara grin so excitedly was a stark reminder of how fleeting she would be. The sheer innocence of it cut through the Doctor’s soul like an arrow. 

His guitar’s shoulder strap got annoying real fast. A few discordant notes sounded from the amp as he set his guitar aside and edged behind Clara, mirroring the embrace she gave him only moments ago. She cradled his forearm and leaned back against him. Solid, real,  _alive_.

“Clara...Clara, Clara, Clara...” he closed his eyes to shut out the visual noise around him. This was easier to say when they weren’t face to face, and if he didn’t say it now he never would. 

All the organs in his abdomen itched. His skin was suddenly too tingly for his frame, and he longed to rip it clean off like gift-wrap. Could she feel his hearts fluttering? Did she notice the sudden tremor in his fingers? 

Her heartbeat quickened beneath his wrist. She seemed a little tense. He heard the faint swish of her licking her lips. Of course she would react this way-- she felt the same about him.

This conversation was going to change everything between them.  _Everything_. Such a terrifying prospect sent another wave of internal itching through his stomach. Taking a deep breath steeled his nerves. The next one had him seeing spots, and the one after that left him light-headed. Fantastic, he was hyperventilating! 

He let his chin touch the softness of her hair, held the fourth breath and used it to speak, “Do you remember the night we ordered pizza in your flat?”

The hands cradling his forearm tightened. Her answer vibrated through her back, “Mmhmm...your note was funny, by the way.”

“Ah, thanks.” Emotion surged inside him again, tangling around the things he wanted to say. He ducked his head to whisper in her ear, “Yes, silly notes are my thing. I’m quite good at them. Do you want to know what we’re both too good at?”

“Time traveling and escaping death by the skin of our teeth?” she replied quickly.

“We  _are_  talented at that, yeah, but I have something better. We both need Academy Awards for our acting abilities. And the Oscar goes to Clara Oswald and the Doctor for their performance in  _Pretending to Sleep_.” 

The statement came out harsher than he intended, so he softened his voice to sound less accusing and more honest, “Isn’t it amazing what we can say to people when we think they won’t hear or remember it?”

Clara’s shoulders stiffened. Her chest rose and fell with a quick intake of air. “You...I mean...Doctor, I--”

“We both ran away like a couple of fools. It’s high time we stop running, turn around and face this head-on,” he talked a mile a minute, trying to keep his thoughts and speech in sync. Words started piling up in his head like a discordant mess. He picked through it, spitting out the ones that made sense and discarding the rest. They sounded ridiculous to him when spoken aloud, but he kept going anyway. 

“These feelings aren’t an alien monster on a faraway planet. These emotions are something within  _us_ , Clara. We can’t run from ourselves. I’ve tried it for over two-thousand years and I speak from experience when I say it doesn’t work.”

“Doctor...”

“Oh, to hell with it! To hell with rules, to hell with everything!” he sucked air through his teeth, fished a note card out of his trousers pocket and placed it face-down in her hands, “I wrote it in case my mouth stopped cooperating with my brain, and that is exactly what happened. I don’t want to ramble on for twenty minutes, so here. This, Clara, is what I  _want_  to say.”

Clara’s shoulders rose and fell. She flipped the note card over. On it, in bold black marker, he had written:  ** _Clara Oswald, I love you_.**  

Time whistled inevitably forward, an arrow shot from a bow of impassioned words. The hardest part, pulling the bowstring and firing the confession, was over. Why were those three words so terrifying to say?

All of creation stood still while Clara tucked the note card into her bag. She pushed his arms apart. Not a rejection. Some shuffling and a whisper of fabric brushing fabric and she was facing him. His hands settled on her lower back and hers clutched his upper arms. Her big, wide-set brown eyes glistened beneath the TARDIS lights. They did that annoying-- no,  _endearing_ \-- inflating thing. Her lips parted next and his acute ears easily picked up her barely-controlled breathing. He heard her swallow over the lump no doubt growing in her throat. He had one, too, like a hot potato stuck behind his Adam’s apple.

“How scary was that for you?” she asked him.

He frowned and crinkled his nose as if tasting something sour. 

“It wasn’t.”

A lie so bad even psychic paper couldn’t turn it into the truth. Clara snickered at him because she saw right through it. 

“If you say so,” She let go of his biceps, stood on her toes and embraced his neck. Into his ear, she said, “I love you, too.”

Relief flooded warmly from his scalp to his toes. No more running, No more dancing around the elephant in the room. 

And now that their feelings were out in the open, he wanted to act on them. Today, tonight... whatever! It had to be special. It had to be memorable. But the right words weren’t appearing for him. His eyes focused on the TARDIS control console and gleamed with realization. 

Maybe words weren’t necessary after all.

The Doctor reached around Clara to type on his keyboard, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen.

“What are you doing?” she twisted to peer over her shoulder, “Youtube? You can get Youtube in here?”

“Yes,” he jostled her to face forward again, “It’s quicker than rummaging through my playlists. Now...”

There it was. Nightwish,  _The Heart Asks For Pleasure First_. 

“Rumor has it that you took a few dance classes...”

“...and?”

“Fancy a waltz?”

“You?”

“Gallifreyan waltz-- it’s pretty much a Vienna Waltz with more swimming. You’ll pick it up. Are you up for it, Clara?”

Clara’s large eyes blinked. The Doctor saw her pupils dilate. She nodded, adjusting herself accordingly. He caught her right hand in his left and settled his right hand just below her shoulder blade. His hearts quickened when the music started. He hiked his foot backwards so his heel contacted a button on the underside of the control panel. The lights flickered and his sense of up from down began to vanish. It would take almost a minute for the full effect to take place.

Smiling, the Doctor gave Clara enough lean to know which way they were going and swept her briskly around the main control console. Every step fell perfectly in rhythm. She matched him with relative ease. Good. Excellent.

“I feel light-headed,” she laughed.

“Perfectly normal, given the circumstances,” he twirled her and drew her close again, “When I said more swimming, I actually meant less gravity.”

“Oh!” 

Clara gasped when a kick of his foot carried them upward. A twist of his upper body sent them spinning around each other like binary stars. Angling to ‘land’ on surfaces took some skill. So did the kicks to twirl, cartwheel and flip them through the air. He still remembered every single one. Clara picked them up quickly, and soon their legs formed artful shapes amidst the dim lights. He thoroughly enjoyed releasing her to spin freely while he sailed past to catch her again.

Music poured through the Doctor’s body and he gave himself completely to it. To the drums, the violins, Floor Jansen’s vocals and the electric guitars-- he never let anyone see him show his passion this way. These were the things he always got stuck trying to express in words. But here, now, the music tore that annoying barrier down. Words weren’t necessary because his body spoke for him as he led the woman he loved through this rousing dance.

Kick off, whirl across, land on a surface, take steps and kick off again. Cartwheel, flip, spin and spiral. Their movements fell into perfect sync.

“Clara, my Clara,” he whispered in her ear, “Clara, Clara,  _Clara_...”

Clara’s expression softened. She edged herself closer, as if drawn towards the blissful look on his face. He felt every inch of her body press tighter against his and threw all thoughts about the future to the wind. Right then it was only him and her whirling through the colorful lights. Neither time nor gravity bound them to anything except each other. 

His hearts quickened when she squeezed his hand and grinned into his neck. He was quite taken with how her dark hair flowed with their movements.

The song began winding down to a single cello. The Doctor guided them towards the floor, winked at Clara and activated the gravity switch with his foot. Gravity returned gradually, letting him finish by dramatically dipping her. Face to face the way they were left them breathing each others’ breath. 

He saw her lips part like she wanted to say something, yet she didn’t speak. She just looked up at him expectantly. He waited for her hair and clothing to fall naturally before easing her upright again. Did he imagine it, or was she somehow disappointed? 

Their faces were still perpetually close. She stayed  _right there_ , gazing longingly at him. 

Confused, he scratched the back of his head. “Um...I think I have a note card for--” He rummaged in his coat pocket, filed through the cards and found no answer. “--wait, no I don’t.” No choice but to ask, “Are you waiting for me to kiss you?”

Clara’s lips curled in a smile, flashing her white teeth, “Yes.”

The Doctor leaned his face closer hers. God, this made him so nervous. 

“No tongues, all right?”

“I promise not to set off your gag reflex,” she tipped her head slightly to the left, “now, Doctor...stop stalling. Kiss me.”

He closed his eyes and crossed the last distance. Moist softness greeted him with an emotion he could drown in. Fear drove him back after the initial peck, but love pulled him forward again. He kissed her over and over, every touch of their lips like colliding galaxies ghosting through each other as they merged. She tasted minty, a result of the breath mints she occasionally popped into her mouth.

Clara’s hands shifted off his upper arms. They slithered up his shoulders, past the back of his neck and buried themselves in his hair. Her fingertips massaged his scalp in slow circles. She applied enough pressure for it to feel amazing instead of painful. 

For awhile he worried this body didn’t recognize desire the same way it ignored hunger or thirst-- especially since Missy’s invasive kiss a while back didn’t garner an involuntary response. Yet here, in Clara’s arms, he felt a tightness that told him everything worked just fine.

He moved his left hand up to the nape of her neck and his right rubbed her lower back. She pressed herself more fully against him. Nothing stood between them except their clothes and their skin.

“Ooh, is that a new sonic in your pocket?”

They stopped kissing and embraced tightly. He could feel her smile by the roundness of her cheek against his. She played with his coat lapel, which sent chalk scents wafting up. He liked how it mixed with the fruity smell of her shampoo.

"No,” he answered belatedly, “That’s me.”

"I was joking,” she trailed off, her fingers tightening their grasp on his coat.

The silent implication hung in the air. For a moment the Doctor wondered if he said something inappropriate. Then he felt Clara’s hands slide under his coat to embrace him more closely. Her heartbeat added a third pulse to both of his. He liked that feeling.

“I never got this far with Danny,” whispered Clara, “We kissed and fooled around a bit, but...”

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by ‘fooled around’ and didn’t want to look ignorant by asking, so he cast the subject aside as useless.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel prepared for, Clara.” 

It sounded flippant, especially after showing her the kind of passion he really felt. What if he made a horrible mistake to bare himself like that? Relationships were messy, complicated things.

“Doctor,” she jiggled his coat lapels, “I took him for granted. I kept putting him off, saying we should wait. Then he died in a stupid accident that could happen to anyone. That’s time I can never have back.”

All at once something he said to Ashildr sprang to mind.

 _"People like us, we go on too long. We forget what matters. The last thing we need is each other. We need the mayflies. See, the mayflies, they know more than we do. They know how beautiful and precious life is because it's fleeting. Look how Sam Swift made every last moment count, right to the gallows. Look how glad he is to be alive. I looked into your eyes and I saw my worst fears. Weariness. Emptiness.”_   

Like Ashildr, he tried to stay closed off to Clara. Somehow, by virtue of being  _Clara_ , she found her way into his hearts anyway and there she would stay as long as he lived.

His gaze dropped to the floor while he pondered how to ask his next question. He knew the answer, but...consent. Not another step would be taken unless he was certain of her agreement.

“Clara,” he gave her a smoldering look, “Do you want me to make love to you?”

No hesitation.

“Mmhmm.”

Sincerity, one of a few subtle things he could read, shone plainly on her face.

The Doctor drummed his fingers lightly on her shoulders.

“Okay, then. It’s been a long time since I’ve...and I’m not sure where to go from here. I know what to do, it’s-- ugh. All the steps are muddled up in my head,” he caressed her bottom lip with his thumb and dropped his voice low, “I trust you can straighten this out.”

Clara’s answering smile crinkled the bridge of her nose. “Show me to your bedroom, you silly old fool.”

The Doctor didn’t really  _have_  a formal bedroom. A room for not being awake in seemed absurd, however the TARDIS covered for him nicely by creating a cozy one while he led Clara down a random corridor. The walls and ceiling were transparent, granting a view of the time vortex around them. By the door, a king-sized bed with soft silver sheets and a quilt alternating between matte black velvet and shiny purple satin. A tiny nightstand stood beside the bed and the tall floor lamp in the opposite corner provided soft lighting.

 _Now_  he knew what to do. He scooped Clara up bridal style and carried her straight to the bed. The TARDIS exited the time vortex automatically because nobody was at the helm. He recognized their location the moment he looked up at the speckled blackness where fuzzy points of light gathered like cobwebs all around. Here and there, smatterings of stars, spirals and spheres danced delicately in the darkness.

 _Ooh, what a sly vehicle_.

“Where are w-- oof!” Clara giggled upon being plopped on the bouncy mattress. She laid back, eyes gazing in wonder at the vista above. Just like a mayfly seeing sunlight for the first time.

"The Boötes void,” the Doctor stretched out on his back beside her. The soft mattress molded to his shape. “Those aren’t just stars, Clara, those are galaxies. Superclusters, to be precise. This is a piece of the cosmic web-- the grand scale of the universe.”

She drew a breath, “It reminds me brain cells.”

Both his eyebrows went up. He thought so, too!

“Does it go on forever?” she asked.

“The edge of the universe is an edge in time. Only Time Lords who know what they’re doing can go past it,” He raised his left hand to point, “But what you’re looking at, Clara...it’s a tiny fraction of what’s out there. Imagine the entire universe as an ocean and all you can see is the surf at your feet.”

Her hand swished sideways until her pinkie touched his. He flipped his palm upward and interlocked their fingers. The quiet sounds of their breathing seemed thunderous in the otherwise silent room.

“This is the kind of emptiness that I run from,” said the Doctor. He gestured at the expanse between them and the distant galaxies. A sweeping motion cast away the subject before it grew too brooding. 

“Clara--” he felt a burning sensation when she caressed his hand too lightly, however the flinch didn’t go unnoticed and she applied firmer pressure. “Clara, would you mind tying your hair back before we do this?”

“Oh! Sensory...that isn’t a problem. Let me go get a hair band out of my bag, okay?” 

Clara clambered off the bed and padded into the hallway. Moments later, she came back crackling a brush through her hair. She teasingly straddled his waist while she deftly gathered her shoulder-length locks into a ponytail and wove it through the band in three swift motions. 

The brush was set aside on the nightstand. Then, with a playful giggle, Clara let herself tumble forward so they were nose to nose. The Doctor likened it to watching stardust fall from the universe. Seeing the galaxies reflected in her eyes almost stole the last of his breath. They weren’t empty or tired. They held endless, boundless wonder about  _life_.

“So, Doctor, does being so sensitive to touch mean you feel everything more intensely?”

He gulped and forced his mouth to formulate words, “Probably. Haven’t done anything overtly sexual with this body. I’m figuring it out as I go.”

“Then what if I...” Clara caught his earlobe between her teeth and lightly sucked on it.

Tingling sensations shot down his arms. Goosebumps rose on his skin. He slipped his hands under the back of her shirt to touch her soft skin. With his fingertips, he silently counted her vertebrae as he traced a line from her lumbar spine to the back of her bra. Her fingers raked through his hair and his whole body responded with a shudder.

“You seem to like it when I do that with my fingers,” Clara said in his ear, “How about this?”

She did the same thing in a trailing line around his ear, down his neck and across his chest. He did the same on her back since his hands were still under her shirt. Clothes became the most annoying things ever invented. He gave her a ‘one moment’ gesture and sat up to wriggle his coat off, leaving just his hoodie and holey sweater between him and everything else.

Clara took the box of chalk from his coat pocket and set it on the silver nightstand by the bed.

“So you can smell it,” she winked, “I know you like your reassurance.”

The Doctor brought his hand up to his mouth and bit the stem of his No Gloom ‘Shroom. It saved his nails more times than he could count. Right now, he held it in his teeth so he could slip the clear coil off his wrist. He waggled his eyebrows and sucked on the stem. She tugged the coil to bring him close again and lovingly kissed him above each eyebrow.

"By the way, I have a condom in my jacket pocket.”

“Birth control?” he spat out the No Gloom ‘Shroom and set it aside, “How primitive. You won’t need that nonsense with me. I can choose whether or not I release sperm.” 

“Heh, life would get a lot simpler on Earth if humans could do that. Right. Forget the condom.” She reached back and boldly grasped him through his trousers. He gasped, eyelids fluttering half-shut. Her eyes widened, “Oh...firm as a flagpole. Well, someone’s excited.”

The casual touch went through him like a forest fire. This regeneration let him control it much better than the previous one. He knit his brow and sucked air through his teeth.

“Clara, my need is getting urgent. Very urgent.”

“Are you, now?” Clara kissed his chin, “How about I help you now so you can go slow later? Besides...” she leaned closer, her whisper dropping low, “I always fancied the idea of a man creaming his trousers over me.”

Just the thought quickened his breathing. He’d never be able to put these trousers on without fondly remembering what was about to happen.

Clara straddled his lap again. He really liked how she kept coyly biting her lower lip. Then she started dry humping him and all his thoughts fell away. It took less than two minutes before his abdominal muscles twitched. The delicious ache spread through his chest to the rest of his body, but it didn’t feel entirely  _satisfying_. He pulled her close, hiding his reddened face in her neck and holding in his moan because he didn’t want her to see the full show until they actually made love.

“Your ears went red,” Clara nuzzled her cheek against his, “Is that better, Doctor?”

“Mmph,” he grunted into her shoulder, suddenly aware of the thick wetness in the crotch of his underwear, “I need to get out of my clothes before this gets sticky and uncomfortable.”

She licked her lips and slid off him, “Perhaps we should both undress, then. So it’s fair.”

Oh yes, knowing he had access to the secrets Clara Oswald kept concealed beneath her clothing stirred his desire again. 

The Doctor removed his shoes and socks and peeled his hoodie off. An excited shiver ran through him as he got up to unzip his fly. Down went his trousers. Now he stood there wearing only his black sweater and gray jockey shorts decorated with question marks. A sticky wet stain darkened the crotch. Seeing it roused a small chuckle from him. He slid his shorts off, pulled his foreskin back and used the dry fabric to wipe himself clean. Very unpleasant on his softening man-parts, but the alternative was an odious, disgusting mess. The shorts were tossed onto his other clothes once he cleaned up to his liking. Finally, he shimmied out of his sweater and turned it right side out before flipping it aside.

He glimpsed Clara carefully stripping to her bra and panties. They were purple with tiny black polka dots.

 _Why in blazes do women wear fancy undergarments when hardly anyone sees them?_  he wondered.

Seeing her finely-toned body had him extremely self-conscious of his own. He couldn’t suck his jiggly stomach in if he tried. His pasty, knobby-kneed physique didn’t resemble the muscular men in the magazines by his easy chair. They were chiseled from stone...and he looked like a jello mold compared to them!

Clara still had her back turned. The Doctor scrambled under the covers of the bed. 

What if one look at him changed her mind? She was so beautiful, and he looked like he lost a war with gravity. So there he hid, nervously biting his No Gloom ‘Shroom so he wouldn’t chomp his nails to bits.

She heard him rustle the bed covers. He saw her turn to look. Her eyebrows went up.

“Cold, Doctor?”

“No...” he admitted, “...just a bit shy, I suppose. I just realized I’m not much to look at without my clothes on. Everything’s happening on my face, the rest...”

Clara unhooked her bra and let it slide off her arms as she eased her panties down. She kept her breasts covered with her hands. The triangle of dark pubic curls concealed her fairly well down below, too. Her figure wasn’t voluptuous by any means, however she looked more like the people in magazines than he did.

She perched on the edge of the bed, both hands still cupping her breasts to conceal them.

“This got me mercilessly teased in gym class in high school. Then I learned it’s an anatomical variation. I still feel ashamed of it at times, but...”

What? Did she have warts? Zygon suckers instead of nipples? Scars? Burns? Something too unsightly to lay eyes upon? The endless possibilities spun around his skull until her hands dropped, revealing brownish-pink areolas with slits in the middle.

The Doctor’s eyes shifted quickly between Clara’s breasts and her furrowed eyebrows. He set his No Gloom ‘Shroom back on the nightstand. That was it? That made her self-conscious?

“Inverted nipples aren’t anything to be ashamed of, Clara. May I?”

Relief crossed her face so evidently that he easily spotted it. “Of course.”

He slipped an arm out from under the covers and gently caressed her right nipple with his thumb. Her skin felt silky. She took hold of his wrist. Her eyes gazed into his.

“I want to see you, Doctor.”

Witnessing her confidence wavering gave him courage, strangely enough, and he pushed the covers off himself. Both his hearts beat faster. He felt so tiny, so utterly vulnerable to her.

“I’m sorry if it isn’t what you imagined. Perhaps I should lift some weights. But lifting weights would imply I planned this when I obviously didn’t.” 

 _Shut up, shut up, shuttity up, up, up!_  he told himself.

No laughter broke the silence. No derisive snorts or sad wags of the head. No, Clara smiled as she settled beside him, bringing their naked bodies into full contact for the first time. Complete awareness of their closeness boiled to the forefront in his mind. How could he  _not_  be conscious of it?

“You feel as soft as you look,” she wrapped her arms around him, her cheek resting on his shoulder. 

The Doctor beamed and massaged Clara’s wonderfully smooth shoulders. She had a few pimples on her back, however he didn’t comment on them for fear of spoiling the mood. His urge to blurt out what he noticed got in the way of saying something more appropriate, so he fell back on repeating her statement back to her with different emphasis. “You feel as soft as  _you_  look.”

Pure affection showed on her face. He pressed his lips to her brow, to each eyelid, her cheeks, her nose and finally her mouth. He kissed her like she contained the sweetest, purest nectar he could damage with a single wrong move.

“Doctor,” she spoke between kisses, “touch me. Put your hands all over me. You don’t have to touch anything you aren’t comfortable touching. I’ll understand.” Her fingers trailed through his hair, a loving, slow caress he couldn’t get enough of, “Okay?”

Nodding, he nudged her onto her back and placed his hands right on her breasts. “They are small...but I quite like them,” he said as he massaged each one in turn. Her inverted nipples didn’t turn him off at all. In fact, he found them fascinating.

And Clara clearly enjoyed having him take one in his mouth to suck on. 

“Ahh, not so much suction,” she gasped, “There-- better...”

Her breasts were sensitive and delicate. He took note and treated them with more gentleness than his No Gloom ‘Shroom. To his delight, her nipples actually everted when they became erect under his ministrations. He spent a long moment kissing and sucking on them before moving down to blow a razz on her stomach.

“Doctor!” Clara jumped and laughed.

“You said I could do anything I wanted,” he winked, accepting her playful smack upside the head with a grin.

His fingers traced long patterns inward to the triangle of curls between her legs. She reminded him of a conch shell. Though he couldn’t fathom putting his mouth there-- sanitation reasons-- he carefully slipped his thumb past the top of her slit. Some moving around and he located a firm bundle of softness. He knew he had the right spot when Clara’s abdominal muscles clenched.

The smell of her arousal surrounded him. A musty, pleasant scent. Excitement jumped through his nerves. He tried applying pressure. She expressed dislike by grabbing his wrist and squeaking out an ‘ouch’. He apologized several times and kissed her stomach to smooth over his mistake. 

“It’s too sensitive to touch it directly,” she explained, moving his thumb slightly higher, “Push there instead.”

Clara would only know that about herself if she masturbated. The thought of her doing so thrilled him.

He applied pressure exactly where she directed him to. She gasped beautifully. He filed that knowledge away for the future while he rotated his hand to cup her. Once they got to it he wouldn’t be able to  _look_ , so he used his middle finger to locate her vaginal opening and mentally drew a map through his sense of touch. Ah, there it was-- a puckered wet area where his finger sank in. Exactly one pinkie's length from her clitoris. Easy to remember. 

He licked his lips and circled her opening with his fingertip before pushing it gently in. Hot and soft, like a ridged mouth sans the tongue. Her intact hymen had a large enough hole to accommodate him without breaking. He slipped his fingertip past the hardness of her pubic bone and felt around. Aha, a small, rough area. Perfect.

“And for my next trick...” 

He extended his thumb to press where she showed him and wiggled the finger still inside her.

“Doctor!” Clara gasped. 

“Clara, meet your Gräfenberg spot.”

“That feels-- oh! You’ll finish me off too fast if you keep doing that! Ooh...God...”

That certainly swelled his pride. Nice to know he didn’t lose all his marbles when it came to lovemaking.

The Doctor wiped his hand on the edge of the mattress to dry it. He kissed her thighs, her knees, her feet and her toes. Then he slid upward, bringing them face to face once more. He waggled his eyebrows and smiled at her as he playfully poked her belly button with the tip of his erection.

“My little soldier is standing at attention for you.”

“Little?” Clara ran her finger along his jaw, “Where do you keep that cannon when it’s not pointing at me?”

“Well--” He laughed at the euphemism and nuzzled his cheek against hers, “--I  _am_  a Time Lord. I suppose everything in my trousers is bigger on the inside.”

She snorted, “Your sex jokes are terrible.”

“Thank you, I tr-- oof!”

Clara reversed their positions and sat atop his stomach. The universe stretched on forever behind her, a scene that took millions of years to change its configuration. Beautiful Clara-- right then she looked timeless.

“Always loved your hands. They were made for that guitar,” she said, taking one after the other and kissing his fingertips. He noticed with pride that not chewing his nails so much let them grow back healthy again. No more ragged edges. She rubbed her thumbs over his fingernails as if agreeing with his unspoken thought.

Their eyes met-- actually, he focused on her eyelids, but close enough. She went quiet and gazed down at him, her expression noticeably softer than before. 

“You’re giving me that look.”

“Which one?”

“The same one I’m giving you. It’s the look that tells me everything you feel about me.”

Understanding came to him. He memorized every aspect of Clara’s expression. Everything from the position of her eyelids to her parted lips. She flashed him that expression countless times, and he couldn’t figure out what it meant. That was her  _I love you_  face. He never wanted to be oblivious to it again.

“I’m glad you told me,” said the Doctor, “Sometimes, I have trouble understanding facial expressions. A bit annoying at times and useful when I don’t want to care what somebody else feels. But you, Clara,” he touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb, “I always care about what you feel.”

She kissed his thumbnail. “Me, too.”

Her hands splayed out and wandered aimlessly up and down his chest. Firm enough to not cause him pain, yet light enough to generate goosebumps. A soft moan escaped him. Oh, how he enjoyed it when she did that. He framed her face with his fingers and pulled her close to kiss her mouth.

“You’re aware of how easily distracted I am,” the Doctor purred, taking full advantage of his Scottish brogue, “so I have a request.”

“Mm, anything you want, Doctor,” she said huskily in his ear. That tone of voice ran right through him in a most delightful way.

He inhaled deeply and played with her ponytail, “Don’t fiddle about with trying to kiss or stroke me when I’m about to finish. Distractions might spoil it. I’ll tell you when I’m at that point.”

Clara playfully whacked him upside the head. “I’ll take care of you, Doctor, don’t worry.” 

And that was all the reassurance he needed.

She rolled off and lay back in a way that put her whole body on display for him. He sat up and shot her a confused look with an arched eyebrow. Something told him he was missing the obvious about her body language. She coyly bit her bottom lip and patiently waited for him to piece it together.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

The Doctor positioned himself between Clara’s legs. Time to put the mental map in his head to good use. A hand by her shoulder maintained his balance while he took hold of his member. Though he couldn’t always read Clara’s eyes, she read his like a book. He wanted her to see his love for her while they joined in this most intimate connection.

A brief wink was all the warning he gave. He touched his erection to the top of her slit, measured downward and guided himself in. Gentle pressure let him ease through her hymen without causing her any pain. With that barrier gone, he slid the rest of the way easily. Her warmth surrounded him in sensation and emotion almost too overwhelming for words.

“Ahh, Clara, my Clara,” the Doctor wilted into Clara’s arms, “Clara, Clara,  _Clara_.”

Clara squeezed him with her-- well the name of the muscle escaped him at the moment-- and it stole his breath. She kissed the moan from his lips. He shuddered when she ran her fingers through his hair.

Thrusting came naturally. Similar to rocking back and forth, albeit with his lower half instead of the upper. He established a bit of a scooping motion, aiming each inward thrust at her posterior vaginal walls while every retraction focused towards the anterior.

Until that point Clara kept her cool. Now? Now he took great delight in her open mouthed gasps and soft sighs. Her hand found his. Their fingers interlocked tightly. She rose to meet his thrusts and it briefly threw off his rhythm. There was grumbling and a few chuckles before they gradually fell into sync just as they did when they danced.

“Harder!” she cried.

He obliged, focusing on her enjoyment instead of his own. The rise and fall of her body beneath his grew stiffer and shakier. Her legs squeezed his hips. He felt her fingertips clutching at his back. She was close now, so close. 

Every thrust made wet suction noises. Scents of arousal surrounded the bed like an aura. They gasped each others’ breath. He glided in and out of her as though every stroke mixed a few more of their molecules together. A tiny thing in the grand scheme of the universe, but unity was unity regardless of size.

Clara’s abdominal muscles contracted. Redness spread along her chest, neck and face. Her forehead wrinkled. The moans she let out came in shorter bursts at a higher pitch. More glottal onsets at every other exhale. Then every single exhale. Her throat was tensing.

The Doctor planted a chaste kiss on Clara’s lips. Constantly shuddering stomach muscles kept interrupting his rhythm. His arms wouldn’t stop shaking. He slid his knees apart, bent forward to rest fully on his elbows and nuzzled Clara’s cheek as he delivered shallower thrusts with the same force. This angle repeatedly pressed his pubic bone against the spot she placed his finger on earlier. 

“Ooh...oh!” Clara panted, ”You-- may want-- to-- move your-- ear!” 

She clenched around him, pushing his response higher. Spasms in his stomach muscles forced him to thrust faster. Speeding up made her face turn tomato red and contort in a rictus he knew wasn’t pain. He stared at it in awed fascination until her first cry jangled his eardrum like microphone distortion. No wonder she asked him to move-- she was a noisy one! 

That turned him on just as much as it hurt. 

He lifted his head, watching her writhe beneath him. For a second he swore her head was about to spin completely around because of how she threw it back. Her flushed face scrunched the same way it did when she cried and her gape-mouthed ‘ah-ah-ah!’ mewls drowned out the wet noises of their lovemaking. Seeing her go off like that struck a chord in his hearts-- and other things. 

“Mmh! Ow, stop,” Clara said once she regained control of her voice.

The Doctor slowed to a halt without pulling out. Tremors raced along his body. He breathed heavily, both hearts pounding a hemiola in his chest. Until that moment he had no idea how tired his thigh muscles were getting.

A smirk curled Clara’s lips and she suddenly rolled him onto his back using what she must have learned in her taekwondo classes. She accomplished the move without detaching their bodies from each other. Very impressive skill indeed! Her delicate hands slid up his biceps to massage his shoulders. A loving, firm touch that he trusted with his life.

“I’m going to take you where you took me,” she purred huskily in his ear.

“Mm,” he kissed her cheek, “short trip, I’m close. Keep your hands where they are, I like that.”

Clara nodded and established the rhythm he used to shoot her into ecstasy. All the wet pushing, pulling and squeezing carried him steadily higher. Air seemed in short supply. He closed his eyes to shut out visual distractions and focus fully on every sensation.

Delicious tingling curled his toes and wrenched involuntary moans from his throat. 

“Clara...”

Jolts of itchy electricity shot down his legs and up his spine. Stronger, longer, bigger. In his hips, his pelvis, his stomach, his chest, pressure upon pressure, need within need. All of it squeezing tighter, an event horizon of unspeakable bliss. 

“Clara!”

Clara did something with her hips and his little pulsations strengthened into intense, unbearable throbbing.  

“ _Clara!_ ” 

Forceful abdominal spasms lifted his back repeatedly off the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his head deeper into the pillow. The pressure peaked and he wiggled his toes in anticipation of what awaited him. 

“ _Cla-RA!_ ” 

His head jerked to the side, eyebrows furrowed and teeth bared in a grimace. The initial release hurt. Everything after drowned him in ecstasy. He clung to Clara’s thighs because he swore he was about to die and rode the euphoric waves until they tapered into a sense of well-being. His fierce expression relaxed once his breathing evened out.

Those ten seconds felt like a wonderful forever.

Clara rocked her hips a moment longer, milking a few aftershocks out of him before coming to a full stop. Her hands shifted off his shoulders to his face.

“Hey.”

“Did I regenerate?” mumbled the Doctor.

She giggled, "How would I explain this position if you did?”

“Very carefully, I suppose,” he found the wherewithal to rub his forehead and open his eyes, “It isn’t called a ‘little death’ for nothing, you know.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, old man.”

He licked his lips with deliberate slowness, “This  _old man_  had you screaming a few minutes ago.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“Good, because I don’t banter.”

“Hah!”

Clara’s soft fingers smoothed his mussed hair and gently cupped his cheeks. He nudged her off his softening member and guided her to lay on top of him. She obliged happily with a contented sigh. They exchanged a long, slow kiss full of unspoken meaning.

 _This_  was a moment he could return to again and again and never feel sadness.

.o

Sleep-- a rare and wonderful retreat until someone interrupted it.

The Doctor stirred upon feeling the bed move. He wiped the crust off the corners of his eyes and looked over at Clara. She was sitting up, her hair still in a messy ponytail.

“Finally, you’re awake.”

“Hm?”

“I know you weren’t fake-sleeping that time. Nobody can fake that kind of snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Grumbling, the Doctor rolled onto his side and came face to face with Clara’s hand holding her phone at his eye level. He gawked at a video of himself dead asleep with his mouth hanging wide open. The noises he emitted sounded like a Harley Davidson motorcycle at war with a logging company. For Heaven’s sake, it nearly drowned out Clara’s background giggles! How could he make such a racket without waking himself up?

“Ugh, delete that!” he groaned.

“Maybe I should make it into a Vine loop.”

He put a pillow over his head, “I can get it deleted very easily, you know. Not a trace anywhere.”

She swiped the pillow and whacked him over the head with it. He used the moment to grab the phone from her hand and delete the incriminating video.

“Whoops, it’s gone. No more evidence. Can’t prove anything now. Care to explain this?”

He showed Clara the video of herself making cat noises at her bathroom mirror.

“Hmph,” Clara fake pouted at him and snatched her phone back, “Are you always this grumpy when you first wake up?”

“Oh, Clara, I am incorrigible.”

The Doctor stole Clara’s pillow as he rolled onto his stomach and bunched his hands up underneath it. He slid his box of chalk off the nightstand and set it between the pillow and the headboard. Its reassuring scent filled his nose when he yawned. Being naked in bed felt really nice-- maybe he should try it more often. 

As usual, his mind settled onto seriousness once he finished dancing around humor. He started biting his thumbnail, remembered his No Gloom ‘Shroom and grabbed that off the nightstand. Worrying that with his teeth let him focus his thoughts.

There was no going back from what transpired a while ago. Romantic relationships required a lot of give and take. Boyfriends did boyfriend things-- like take their lovers on dates, give flowers, candies and a bunch of other superfluous silliness. Those were all well and good, but--

“Hey,” Clara crawled under the covers and assumed the same pose as him, “You look like your mind went light years away.”

“Happens often enough.”

“Yeah, but you’re making your ‘I’m questioning myself right now’ face.”

“I have a face for that?”

“Mmhmm. Looks like this.” She placed her hand by her mouth as if holding an invisible No Gloom ‘Shroom, knit her brow and squinted her eyes.

“You lack the attack eyebrows to accomplish it properly,” he scoffed, spinning the chewy mushroom-shaped stim toy in his hand.

Clara plucked it from his grasp and twirled the coil around her finger. “Are you insulting my ladylike eyebrows?”

“Well, if you want to get  _graphic_  about it,” the Doctor smirked, grabbed his No Gloom ‘Shroom off her fingertip and nibbled it some more.

She scooted over to capture the coil in her teeth. He fake growled at her and she made a cat-like hissing sound. They played a gentle tug of war game for a moment before she let go so he could resume chewing it.

“But, seriously, Doctor...is something bothering you?”

Fabric rustled as he rose up onto his elbows. Piecing this together in his mind wasn’t making sense. Perhaps saying it out loud would help.

“Are we still friends, Clara?”

Both her eyebrows went up.

“What I’m getting at--” he exhaled, “--I haven’t got any problem with what we did, but I don’t think I'm the type to go for a snog and bring you candy, or--”

A finger on his lips halted his rambling. “Friendship in itself is a form of love, you know.”

“But...oh, it’s not coming out right!” He ground the stem of the silicone mushroom between his molars in silent frustration.

“Just be who you are and I’ll be who I am. That’s what love is, it’s accepting someone as they are and not trying to change them. Besides,” she coyly bit her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows, “I think you do a pretty good job of taking me out on exciting dates anyway. And that dance we did-- whew! I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime. You looked so... _passionate_. I had no idea you had that in you.”

Her compliment swelled his pride slightly. The rest of her words entered his brain, bounced around and didn’t quite land in the right places to absorb them properly. The words themselves made sense-- the meaning he hoped for didn’t want to congeal. He frowned, trying to rephrase his question to get an answer he could understand more fully.

"So we get to stay friends, too? Friends when we travel, but also lovers who sometimes kiss and...” he gesticulated at the bed.

And Clara’s expression softened into her  _I love you_  face. The Doctor found himself transfixed with memorizing all the little details of her features as they looked right that moment. 

She wouldn’t last forever-- he knew it deep in his soul and the notion tied his guts into knots-- but he told himself to enjoy the  _now_  while it lasted. Love was a promise, a promise to cherish everything. Every moment with this impossible woman gave him a shiny new jewel to store away in his mental treasure chest of memories.

“Yeah,” Clara squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek, “We’re still friends, Doctor.”

That answer made perfect sense to him. Nothing much had to change. Knowing that shot happiness into the pit of his stomach. A bright, crinkly-eyed smile slowly unfolded on his face. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to.

Clara grinned back and took a picture of him with her phone. The Doctor took one of her with his hearts.

"Breakfast?” she suggested. 

“Good idea.”

They got out of bed together. Clara climbed into the clothes she threw on the floor last night. The Doctor did the same-- sans underwear-- and winked cheekily at her as he slipped his chalk into his coat’s inner breast pocket and eased the No Gloom ‘Shroom onto his wrist.

“Him, what to eat,” he smirked and started towards the door. She was going to clobber him for this, but some things had to be done. “Might I suggest a cold slice of pizza?”

“You!” 

The Doctor stopped walking, anticipating. Clara grabbed him around the waist from behind. He flipped her easily into a waltz dip. She flung her arm dramatically around his neck and gifted him with her wonderful laughter. 

Having their feelings for each other in the open meant he could  _do_  things like this without fear of causing offense or leading her on. He never would’ve dreamed of pulling such a silly move before. 

Denial-- wasn’t that a river in Egypt? Wait, that was the Nile.

He helped her stand upright again. Sheer, untainted giddiness prompted him into brisk waltz steps. Words couldn’t express it properly, but  _that_  did. 

“Oh!” Clara squeaked and fell into step with him. He danced her all the way to the end of the corridor before walking normally again as if nothing unusual happened. 

She was smiling. Smiling because of  _him_.

Maybe these boyfriend things weren’t so difficult after all.

  
-END-

**Author's Note:**

> ...and will you believe me when I tell you I'm a 35 year old woman and a virgin? ;)


End file.
